


Comfort Zone

by Keitmeg



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Camelot, Gen, Panic Attacks, Possessive Arthur, Post-Episode: s05e01-02 Arthur's Bane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-17 23:16:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7290025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keitmeg/pseuds/Keitmeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're deep in the woods when it happens.<br/>A flash of a dreadful vision resurfaces, leaving Merlin breathless, literally. Luckily, Arthur is there to make it all right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort Zone

**Author's Note:**

> Typos are mine, con-cri is welcomed.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

“Merlin!”  Arthur’s shout could be heard echoing through the corridor, “Merlin!!”

Said boy fights the urge to roll his eyes, does Arthur never tires of yelling his throat sore. When Merlin collects himself, he bursts into the king’s chamber with a face set with hard lines. “Sire.” He informs with a tone twirling with barely contained rage. He’s already helped Arthur dress up, and prepared a rather suitable breakfast, so what is it that he wants now?

Arthur is approaching him after he's stood by the middle with his hands twined behind his back, “prepare the horses, we’re leaving for a hunting trip.”

Merlin doesn’t fail to see the hints of smugness about his king’s face as he walks by him.

This is how the day started this morning.

Apparently, Camelot’s dearest knights have decided on setting out on a competition, a hunting competition. So it sort of tells Merlin why Arthur seemed so eager this morning. And if he saw how childish that is he decided to keep it to himself. They have even let Mordred take part in it although they vowed not let him win only to dishearten him. It’s quite laughable how the fearful knights turn into a heap of muscles with small brains when a new comer shares the horses and the journey to serve the king. Merlin doesn’t really dwell on it because as long as Mordred is there to take on their puckish banter and immature pranks, he can roam the earth as free as a ghost.

The fortress surrounding the kingdom is actually quite vast, which somehow explains why criminals, smugglers and many creatures of the night preferred to lurk around in its skirts.

But it only reminds Merlin of the danger waiting by.

The clopping of the seven horses grinding dry leaves and arid branches takes Merlin off of his thoughts.

“We better part ways here.” Arthur offers, “we shall meet at midday, same place.”

The five knights bow their understanding, tugging on the reins of their horses and riding to the opposite directions. Merlin stays with the king because the king has to keep someone close by to punch if his prey escaped, and Merlin doesn’t have the audacity enough to allow Arthur to punch a truck and break his calloused fingers that know nothing but how to wield a sword, and how to smack Merlin on the head, obviously.

“You see, merlin” Arthur says over the rustling of the bare trees, “in order to be a good hunter you have to have patience–“

A scream resonates between the tree lines and Arthur pulls the reins and his horse immediately grinds to a halt. Another scream tells the two young men that a woman is calling out for help. With a shared nod, the two of them click their tongues, permitting their horses to run as fast as the confined space can allow them, racing between the marvelous trees. On the way to the source of the scream, Merlin catches a few glimpses of Gwaine, Percival and Elyan riding towards the same direction from the left, Leon and Mordred from the right. All thoughts of hunting going ignored by now as the urgency spikes up a little and all the men are set on rescuing whoever that is in distress.

When they finally reach a clearing down the slope, the men take position and peek down at the overturned carriage, the scattered pieces of boxes and clothing, and the ripped pages of books, but no sight of a human whatsoever. The king gives silent orders to near the scene without much of a sound, but Merlin ruins it for him when he sneezes. Arthur flings him a hard glare and Merlin only shrugs nonchalantly, “it’s not like you can stop a sneeze.”

The search proves futile as they discover nothing.

“Let’s trail their traces." Arthur says in his infamous commanding tone that intimidates the bravest of them all. "They can't be far.”

“We may be walking into a trap.” Merlin says after them, bringing everyone into another halt. “A robbery in broad daylight?” He ushers at the sky, “no wounded victims” he now ushers at the chaos surrounding the cart, “and the boxes have been left locked. If it was indeed a robbery, shouldn’t they have at least taken the boxes.”

The men ponder their options when Merlin sounds like he makes a lot of sense. What he said isn’t entirely untrue, but Arthur has a few protests of his own.

“The owners of the cart may have been kidnapped,” his eyes roam into his manservant's, the defiance is radiant and Merlin is fighting not to look away, oh he is fighting it with passion. “I cannot allow such acts on my land.” Saying so, he finally looks away from Merlin and at the clearing, drawing his sword all the while, “let’s go!”

All the horses pierce forward like a bow, and Merlin can only acquiesce to his king’s wishes and follow suit.

The sun has nearly sunken beyond the horizon when Arthur finally tells the knights to forgo the pursuit for now, it was getting dark anyway and it was getting harder to see the traces, too.

“Merlin, light a fire” He tells the boy after dismounting his horse, “We’re camping here tonight.”

Merlin follows the order almost immediately because he knows a livid Arthur is not an Arthur to mess around with. That fool mood has almost cost him a great price in the past. He is not to repeat the same incident again. He piles the stones over one another, and one glance over his shoulders tells him that no one is keeping a careful eye on him, well except for Mordred. He doesn’t count anyway. So Merlin uses the fire spell and it sparks within mere seconds.

All the knights are surrounding the fire, finding solace in its faint warmth unlike the chilling night breeze passing them by. They’ve already eaten the food Merlin prepared and have even gushed on about how delicious it tasted. So when he comes back with the pile of the bowls he’s just washed by the river, he isn’t surprised to see them snuggling closer to the fire, all of them lying out on the ground like cocooned silkworms as the fire crackles.

It reminds him of something, something so dreadful. It takes him to the secret path to Ismere, inside the cave where he met Lochru and saw a vision of a battle upon which hundreds of knights wearing Camelot's red cloaks were dying, and everything just looked red with blood and death. Lochru hasn’t been wrong, the image is stalking him still and Merlin cannot even move a muscle now that realization hits him like a tide. He feels his chest tightening in on his lungs, and his feels the fear sucking his breath away, literraly.

Gwaine is the first to look up when the heap of dishes falls to the ground with a rattle. “Merlin, what seems to be the matter?”

Merlin’s eyes travel to Mordred’s, he sees the same look from the vision, brimming with nothing but revulsion and resentment. Merlin knows it is just the angle of fire that displays such eyes, but it still only manages to make the darkness in the pit of his stomach crawl its way out. And he falls to his knees, clutching his chest in a death grip until the color drains from his knuckles.

He can hear Gwaine and Elyan calling him out but it all but sounds so muffled in his ears as he tries to listen. And when he does listen, he only hears himself gasping for air that is adamant on leaving him. The thought alone terrifies him.

“He can’t breathe!” Leon exclaims.

Merlin looks through slanted eyes, the unshed tears clouding his vision show him hazy figures, and when it clears just enough, he sees the terror slowly seizing their faces, and it only terrifies him more. Maybe he is going to die now and he can’t even cast a spell with all the spectators enjoying the entertainment.

“What can we do? He is the only physician!” Pervical bellows, fear latent in his tone.

“He’ll die at this rate if we don’t do something!” Gwaine almost growls.

The thought of them fearing for him like this makes something in Merlin’s heart melt, but it only shortens his breathing and he soon whimpers at the new loss.

“Merlin.”

Two hands hold him by his shoulders in a vice like grip, grounding him almost instantly.

“Merlin, listen to my voice.”

It’s Arthur, calling his name out so gently it must surprise even him.

Merlin’s ribs cram on his lungs again and he feels himself mewling at the pain.

The men duck in forward to look at the change taking place over Merlin, and he’s probably figured it out because the thing they hear and see next is Merlin tossing his head back against the truck of the tree he’s currently lying against, and then gasping like a man dying.

The two hands that have just been on his shoulders slide up to his neck, clasping him as if his life depends on it, maybe it does, Merlin is practically wheezing at the moment. He feels Arthur looming in and his lips barely brush his ear, hushing him with soft-murmured nothings.

“Don’t fear us” He mumbles soothingly, “don’t fear me, Merlin.”

Merlin can never fear Arthur. He is too dear to bear fear towards him.

And perhaps Gwaine acknowledges it because he, along with his comrades, want to see where this is going. How Arthur Pendragon is personally tending to Merlin’s outburst of feelings in the spurt of hyperventilation with caring words and touches alone.

“Let my voice be your guide.” He instructs. His fingers growing sweaty against Merlin’s skin, “Do not panic now, I’m here, I will not leave you.”

The thought warms his heart –Arthur is promising not to leave him. Merlin’s heart grows gradually steady hearing those words. He lets go of his chest to clutch Arthur’s hauberk with his delicate fingers instead, but when he tries to open his eyes, Mordred is the first thing he sees before he catches a glimpse of the other men gaping at him and Arthur. So he tries to wiggle away from Arthur’s hold, from their eyes that see him as weak now, he whimpers when Arthur refuses to let go.

Arthur crouches on his haunches to hide Merlin, “Look away!” He commands with a hint of finality “leave us!” and his men abide right away, retreating to their makeshift mats without a backward glance.

“You can breathe easy now.” He whispers softly into Merlin’s ear, “nothing will harm you.”

As Merlin’s breathing grows steadier with each spoken murmur, his strength leaves him after heaving all the night. His shoulders slump down and his head fall onto Arthur’s shoulder, and his hand doesn’t let go of the metal rings as he drags in a lungful of air after another.

“That’s it.” Arthur cheers him on with a genuine smile, “You are doing well, Merlin.”

“S-sorry, sire.” Merlin mumbles but it’s muffled by the hauberk.

“Worry not, Merlin.” Arthur runs his fingers through the raven-hair, kneading assuredly when he hears Merlin mumbling incoherent words. “Sleep now.”

Arthur can’t manipulate magic, but his words sure have an instant effect as they pull Merlin into a restful sleep.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are true love.


End file.
